I Prefer The Night
by Mistress Elysia
Summary: Once upon a time, Solaufein only dreamt of leaving Ust Natha and seeking his fortune upon the surface. Now, thanks to the actions of one particular Bhaalspawn, that dream is now a reality... Different POVs, depending who I am writing about.
1. Prologue

_Well, it's been a while! I do have a good excuse, though - what I thought was a bit of stress-induced illness turned out to be something completely different - I was pregnant (and very happy about it ^^D). It did, however, put a **major**__ crimp on my writing - I suffered with dreadful morning sickness all the way through my pregnancy, meaning that writing was the last thing on my mind. Still, I am now the proud mother of a beautiful baby girl (7 and a half months old at time of writing), so all the sickness was definitely worth it. Only problem now is that babies are also not really conducive to concentration... I just can't win! That doesn't mean the urge to write is not there - it is, and it's as strong as ever - and so whilst I am trying to re-immerse myself back into my old stories, I decided last night to write some hideously overblown and vaguely melancholic claptrap based around everyone's favourite Baldur's Gate drow, Solaufein._

_This is not in any way connected to Weimerfein - it's not that I don't like Weimerfein (he was, after all, the first mod I played and ultimately the mod that got me modding in the first place, so he holds a dear place in my heart), but simply that I would rather write about my own interpretation of Solaufein than someone else's... It's simply pure self-indulgence on my part._

_This isn't really anything - just a collection of musings that Sola might have had upon reaching the surface. I have also taken a bit of artistic license (as I am wont to do - sorry, rabid canon-ists, but I don't swing that way! ;p) with regards to him looking for the PC. Since this is more of an exersize in descriptive writing rather than a proper story as such, whether I write any more for this, or indeed expand on it in the future, I don't know... but since I never say never, who knows?_

_Take care and much love,_

_Ely_

_xx_

**I Prefer The Night...**

It may come as a surprise, but the first thing that struck me as I left the darkness of my former home was not the blinding light of the incandescent orb that hung motionless in the never-ending sky, but rather the ever-present noise.

After the near silent depths of my former Underdark home – a place where I had survived rather than lived for more than two centuries – the surface world is alight with sound, from the softest sigh of the wind as it caresses vivid green robes of trees that have trodden the well-worn path of life even longer than I, to the thundering roar of the sea as it crashes into the white cliffs of the coast, cascading down as a river of liquid diamond. Sometimes, this cacophony causes me to clutch at my head, desperate in my search for a comforting silence... but most of the time, I find myself simply sitting upon the emerald grass, taking in the alien aural landscape around me, marvelling that nature is indeed capable of such a glorious symphony.

It has been nigh on two months since I fled Ust Natha; two months since I met the female that would change my life forever. Quite why I deigned to facilitate her seemingly insane plan to topple the matriarchy of my home city, I do not know – had it failed, I would surely have been hunted without mercy (in fact, I am still expecting such a pursual, given time; as soon as Ust Natha finds its deplorable feet once again, someone will notice my absence and it will not be too long before the fanatical priestesses of the Spider Queen realise that it was indeed I that was involved in the plot to bring down House Despana), but despite this, there was something... something I cannot quite define that drew me to that unremarkable female who called herself Veldrin and her small party of misfits and spurred me on to help her. Whether the urge – nay, the _compulsion_ – to help her came from within or from the Dark Maiden Herself, I cannot quite say... maybe it was a strange combination of both; both my desire to find a way out of the dark and Her desire to test my faith in Her blessed ways and allow me to at last gaze upon Her moon. Whatever it was, whatever the true reasoning, it has been worth it. For the first time in my life, I feel... free.

It is not all sweetness and light, however. Sometimes, when the sounds of the forest all around me, and the unfamiliar gruntings of the rivvil that live in the village near to where I have wandered to, and the local darthirii, so pale that they resemble ghosts to me, patrol outside their hidden lands, the agitation upon their faces plain, I perversely yearn for the comforting darkness and silence of the caves of my Underdark home once more.

The Underdark... Ussta ssin'urn, sreenath Har'oloth, with her crystal-studded caverns, each one filled with crooked, tooth-like stalactites and their corresponding brethren, stalagmites, so that even the shallowest of hollows resembles the maw of some mighty dragon; where pillow-lavas, testament to some massive, ancient eruption, slump lazily over one another, hiding small, olive-green jewels of olivine and peridot in their folds like a dancer, once young and nubile, now old and gone to seed still wearing the gems of her trade that now rest in the pits and rolls of her once taut and smooth skin; where danger in the form of rockfalls, concealed precipices and steep-sided pools of inky-black water, as cold a Cania, is an ever-present threat... and where the drow, my people, live and thrive. We are the undisputed rulers of this beautiful, hostile land; oh, indeed, such creatures as the Illithid and the Eye Tyrants – even the strange and alien Aboleth – may think they can lay claim to this coveted title, but we, the Ilithyrii, know the truth, for it is the Dark Elves and the Dark Elves alone that walk the perilous paths of the Underdark unmolested and unscathed, their proud silver heads held high as all those around them tremble.

Well, until now, that is.

o0o

She called herself Sai. Even though Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden of my heart, allowed me a glimpse of her true form beneath the drow veil she wore so easily, her name had been a complete mystery to me. Sai. A weapon.

With hindsight, it seems strangely apt.

_Later_

The stars are out now; jewels upon a velvet blanket, winking at me, seducing me with their distant, cold smiles. I think I like the night the best. It is then that I can lay back and see without squinting; although the sun – such an insignificant, almost insolent name for that life-giving eye surfacers take so readily for granted – is a blessed sight for one reborn such as I, its light still pains me, causing me to retreat into the darkest reaches of the forest to seek shelter from its luminous radiance. Much to my initial alarm, where the sun has caressed my skin, it has begun to blister... but now I welcome this as a sign of my acclimatisation to this strange realm, for as soon as the dead skin sloughs off, as painful as it is, new skin, skin that is able to withstand the fiery kiss of the sunlight, is revealed. I am hoping that my eyes will be similarly blessed, given time... but until then, it is the night that I like the best.

It took me nearly two whole tendays to find my way to the surface. This was not down to an unfamiliarity of the pathways that led there – we of Ust Natha have, after all, waged war with the darthir for what seems like aeons, meaning that I am not innocent of the crime of spilling surface elf blood many times over – but because I had to spend a lot of my time hiding in shadows, waiting for much depleted patrols to pass by, or backtracking when it became clear that even I could not pass some of the fortified choke-points my former comrades held fast. There were times when I doubted my actions; more than once did I consider slinking back to Ust Natha, where I might just be able to use the chaos Sai's visit had wreaked upon my people as a cover to reintegrate myself back into their society with the minimal of fuss, but I knew deep down to my very core that this would have been a mistake... I cannot pretend any longer. To live under the yoke of the Spider Queen for one second longer, to once again be an unwilling instrument from which her insidious poison is spread, is something I cannot even contemplate, let alone allow to happen willingly. People might consider my decision to leave my home a difficult one, but in actuality, it is the easier of the two choices... especially if you consider what Lloth's clergy would do to me if they found me. Then there is the simple fact that one can only live a lie for so long before it consumes their very soul – something I fear was already beginning to happen to me.

It is now that my thoughts inevitably turn to Phaere.

Phaere... even her name sounds soft to me. Once upon a time, she was almost gentle, our feelings for each other the only pure thing in an impure world. The Handmaidens saw to the end of that. It was then that I realised just how corrupt – how _wrong_ – our society had become; when love, wholesome and unselfish, is seen as a sin, something to be discouraged and corrected rather than nurtured and celebrated. The night they took her, I am not too ashamed to say that I wept, mourning the one thing in my life that made me – made _us_ – feel alive. Once the Handmaidens, those foul parodies of the sacred feminine, had finished with her, there was nothing of my Phaere left; just a cold, soulless husk, capable only of sadistic brutality and cruelty that wore her beautiful face like a mask. For me, the Phaere I knew was dead, years before her actual, physical demise. She died the night she was taken from my arms, replaced with a doppelgänger constructed of pure malice.

I still cannot find it in my heart to truly hate her, however. How can I, when I can still feel her gentle fingers caressing my face, still feel the silk of her hair slip softly over my body, still smell the clean, spicy scent of her ebon skin? There was a purity there... something almost divine in the way our souls seem to match – or so I thought. Even after they took her, I entertained desperate fantasies that they would never be able to break her, that she would laugh in their faces and spit in their eyes, all the while declaring that our love was the one thing that would sustain her and keep her strong.

How wrong I was.

I still blame myself, even though I do not know what I could have done to keep her safe. It was naïve of us, I suppose, to think that Matron Ardulace would not keep a close eye upon her daughter's relationship with a lowly male; her interference was, with hindsight, inevitable. I suppose we could have been more discreet, although how, considering the lengths we went to to hide the true nature of our union, is something that still baffles me to this very day...

But listen to me, wallowing in maudlin thoughts when I should be basking in the joy of Eilistraee's moon. Such musings are, after all, futile; the past is the past, and Phaere is dead for real now, not just dead in my heart.

Even so, I do wonder sometimes... W_hat if. What if. _It is a question that haunts me, and I fear will haunt me forever more, despite everything.

o0o

I have tarried too long here; it is nearing the dawn now. The sky is changing colour, her soft black night attire slowly being replaced first by a purple robe shot with the barest hints of orange, then by a glorious gown of red, gold and pink, only to finally settle upon her favourite of her day-wardrobe, a bright dress of purest blue, powdered with the occasional wisp of cloud. When the sun rises high, it is then that I sleep; I am still recovering the ancient elven ability to trance, lost so long ago to my people as punishment for their goddesses transgressions against Corellon, granted once again by the Dark Maiden as a reward for turning to the light and away from evil ways. That is something else I wonder about... maybe my inability to trance fully reflects the state of my soul in some way. If that is the case, I have some way to go before I am the creature I wish to be; as much as I try to pretend this isn't the case, there is a hatred in my heart that must be expunged in some way, as a poisoned wound must be drained before it can heal again.

Maybe this is why I search for her. She, who gave the courage at last to leave Ust Natha for good and seek my own fortune upon the surface, as unforgiving as it is for one such as I. She, of whom I have only had the barest of glimpses. She, whose compassion seemingly knows no bounds.

Sai.

I have no doubt; she haunts me. During my waking hours, I find myself dwelling upon her nature, trying to puzzle through her behaviour and motivations. At night, the few scant dreams I am blessed with are full of chimeras and hybrids, all of them culminating in parades of female drow with human heads. She is, I will admit, a conundrum to me; an enigma that draws my curiosity as a moth to a flame.

I have discovered through some discreet questioning that she is currently making her way to Athkatla; as long as I take pains to cover my true heritage, hand over gold without complaint when it is asked for and keep my tone friendly and vaguely subservient, the local inhabitants of the small villages dotted in and around the forests and vales of Amn are quite forthcoming with information. If I ever do find her, this is something I will endeavour to warn her about – far too many people are taking in interest in what she is doing, and I fear that will spell trouble for her given time. However, for the moment, I will gratefully use this information to find her and offer her my sword and, ultimately, my fealty.

It is the least I can do, considering all she has already done for me.


	2. One

_Although I don't really want to get into another mammoth fic right now, the Muse has been badgering me about this ever since I wrote 'I Prefer the Night', so I have decided to use that as a kind of prologue and see where this takes me...It's probably going to be a strange mish-mash of plot-following, monologues and soliloquies – depends on how I feel, really!_

_Note: This is another Ely Re-telling Special, so whilst I will stick to canon characterisation as much as personal interpretation allows (my interpretation may differ from others, of course!) and basic plot, expect things to differ from the game (such as dialogues, random encounters and meeting Drizzt... ugh. Such blatant cheese is not tolerated in the Fic World According to Ely!!). I figure that if you want a blow-by-blow rehash of the canon story, you'd play the game rather than reading a fanfic... Also, the death of a certain character does not mean I don't like her – it just fits in with a general theme of the piece (so if you're a fan of this particular character, don't hate me for killing her off – it's not a dig or a state of preference, honest!) ^^D_

One

The evening was pleasant, testament to the glorious day that had preceded it. A light breeze chased its way around a high stand of deep green trees, making their leaves rustle and dance; a marked change from the storm of the night before, which had been weathered underneath near-tattered, weather-stained canvas. The ground was still slightly damp despite the warmth of the sun, heralding the coming of autumn; soon the leaves that fluttered so merrily in the warm summer breeze would waltz sombrely to the ground and lay there as winter defeated and conquered all.

Shielding her eyes against the red glow of the setting sun, Sai stood upon the edge of a high bluff and gazed towards the western horizon, her expression one of preoccupation. Wincing slightly, she closed her sea-grey eyes as her fingers momentarily contracted to pinch the bridge of her long nose in an attempt to counteract the lancing pain that assaulted her senses; for a split second, the world whirled around her as all the colour and calm bled from it, replaced by shades of black and dark grey, tinged with an indescribable feeling of violence and rage. Shuddering slightly, she fought for her composure as the waves of chaos roiled through her, an internal battle that was becoming an almost daily occurrence. Relaxing slowly as she felt the alien urges, so different from her usually calm demeanour, ebb away, she opened her eyes once more and took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scents of leaf mould, old leather and crisp green leaves.

"You okay?"

The voice was light, feminine and almost playful, belying the cruel fact that its owner was struck with the same curse that she was. For a split second, Sai felt a slight ripple of jealousy that Imoen, despite her lack of what could only be described as a soul, could sustain her façade of innocent cheerfulness; it quickly disappeared, though, smothered by the simple love she felt for her adopted sister.

_Well, okay, maybe not so much adopted now..._

A wry smile then touched Sai's lips as this thought sprang unbidden into her thoughts. No, Imoen was now something different to her... no longer just her childhood playmate and conspirator, nor just a comrade in arms. Oddly enough, she had always suspected it; there was a bond between them, even when they were no more than infants, that spoke of something deeper than mere friendship, and now she knew why. They had blood ties.

Bhaal's blood.

"I said-"

"I heard you," Sai replied, her tone chastising yet warm. "And I am fine."

Imoen's features creased in concern. "You don't look fine," she said, a hint of worry colouring her voice. "You look... tired."

"You don't look so hot yourself, you know," Sai quipped back, half joking, half meaning it. Truth was, they both looked tired, the black smudges that encircled their eyes and the premature lines that had been seemingly etched upon their foreheads and around their mouths only compounding this fact. They were both aware of this, and dealt with it in their own individual ways: Imoen through cheerfulness, Sai through her devotion to Tyr. Seeing the frown that threatened to overcome her sister's usually cheerful countenance at her remark, Sai raised a gauntleted hand and patted her lightly upon one shoulder. "I'm sorry... that was in poor taste-"

"Oh, stop it, you," Imoen retorted back affectionately. "Always so serious... when will you learn that I can take the joke?" She frowned slightly. "Well, most jokes..."

Chuckling, Sai nodded as she slung an arm around her sister's shoulders, briefly hugging her tightly. Imoen answered this show of simple affection by wrapping her arm around Sai's waist; together they then made their way slowly back to their makeshift camp, hidden deep within the stand of trees, where they knew Jaheira would be bullying the others into producing something half decent (and probably vegetarian, much to Sai's dismay; forget the the prospect of a soft bed, it was always the prospect of a decent meat meal that the young paladin looked forward to when they visited the various inns and taverns of Amn) for them to eat for supper.

o0o

Creeping forwards, the dark shadow watched the small group ahead of him warily. He was sure he was right; this had to be them. His surety came not so much from any form of positive recognition – after all, the last time he had spoken to them, they had all been disguised as drow – but more from a deep, unfathomable feeling that this was, in pure and simple terms, somehow right, and that something beyond himself drew him to these people.

Silently edging his way closer, he could see that there were three figures sitting around an expertly constructed fire. The first one that caught his attention did so by his sheer size; the other, another male, was in a seemingly embroiled in a heated exchange with the third smaller and slighter figure, who revealed herself as female when she stood up to viciously poke the fire in front of her, upon which a steaming pot sat, supported upon a blackened iron frame.

"I do not see where your complaints come from, Anomen," the female near barked, her voice heavily accented. "We have everything we need here for a nutritious meal-"

"A man cannot live upon vegetables alone, Jaheira!" the human male he guessed was called Anomen retorted back with a snort, whilst the huge man sat next to him nodded. "Sometimes, a man needs _meat_!"

"And sometimes a man can have meat," the female called Jaheira snapped back. "When it is fortuitous to do so. However, man more often than not traipses into the forest, unaware of her cycles, taking game as and when he pleases-"

"Oh, please, spare me from yet another lecture about how all things must balance," Anomen muttered, shaking his head. "Surely one deer – one measly _rabbit_ – wouldn't upset the delicate balance of your precious forests too much?"

Jaheira's eyes narrowed. He was so close to the camp now, he could see that their green depths had taken on an almost emerald-like quality. "It is that kind of thinking – that one thing alone cannot make a difference – that ultimately upsets everything. You are a man of faith, Anomen; you should know this!"

Sighing in exasperation, the man named Anomen raked his hand through his dark, close-cropped hair. "Of course I am aware of that; it's just that I don't see how us trapping a rabbit to feed ourselves can upset the Balance... surely that constitutes as _part_ of the Balance?" As if to punctuate his point, he stuck out his bearded chin a trifle belligerently.

Shaking her head, Jaheira replied with a sigh of her own. "This is the end of summer. Before long, the beasts that you seem so keen to sample will be mating. We cannot interfere with this."

"Just like we couldn't interfere with them at the end of the spring, because they were due to give birth? And then just like we couldn't eat them in summer, because they were tending the resultant offspring? In the winter, I am sure you will be saying 'no' due to the pregnant females... just when is it convenient to eat a decent meat meal, Jaheira? Is there a magical two Tenday window in which we can hunt to our little heart's content?" There was an angry, almost mocking edge to the young man's voice now; at this, the shadow held his breath, expecting the worst.

But the worst did not come. No swords were drawn, no blood spilled, no one left dead at an imagined slight. Instead, the two of them continued to bicker and snip, and as they did so, it dawned upon him that although their words were hostile, their demeanours were not... although they flung insults at each other, there was no inherent malice in their intent. This was further validated by the large fact that the large man – surely huge enough to take on both of them at once and suceed – continued to largely ignore them and talk to something small that held within the cage of his large hands. At this realisation, he couldn't help but smile; the coldness that pervaded every aspect of his life back home to the point where it was simply a way of life held no sway here, and it gladdened him.

Settling himself in the heart of a dense patch of well-grown shrubs just outside the influence of their camp fire, he watched, an eager glint in his crimson eyes. Fighting down the urge to reveal himself, the concealed drow drank in their every move, revelling in small, dark fantasies that he would barely allow himself to admit to where he was with them, partaking in their easy banter and camaraderie. Instead, he sat stock still, a skill that he had honed to perfection during his many years living in the midnight gloom of the Underdark, and simply watched.

o0o

Ambling back to that evening's camp site, Sai felt her heart sink a little when she heard raised voices. Looking across to Imoen she sought a little reassurance, which her adopted sister gladly gave in the form of a warm smile.

"I don't know how you put up with all of this," she quipped. "I think I'd've killed them by now, just for a peaceful life."

Sai smiled a little sadly and shook her head. "It wasn't always like this, Imoen," she replied. "Although things have never been easy, before Spellhold... before Irenicus..." she trailed off, unwilling to verbalise and therefore revisit the horror which had been forcibly thrust upon her very soul.

"I know," Imoen said quietly. "You don't need to spell it out. I've noticed it to – things are getting more and more strained. They're worried about you."

"Us," Sai corrected. "They're worried about us."

"You more than me," Imoen replied wryly.

"No... that's not true," Sai protested.

"Yes it is, and not just because you've been with them longer. Me? I'm just the one who's fading away. You? You're the dangerous one. Even Anomen looks at you a little askew, and as far as he is concerned, you walk on water."

"That's not true," Sai began, a little hotly before realising she needed to clarify her point. "I mean, no to Anomen's opinion and you simply fading." She then grinned tiredly. "You might have a point about the rest."

"How is it... coping with the Slayer?" Imoen asked her question quietly, with a hint of hesitation in her voice.

The simple fact that her friend hadn't pursued an avenue ripe with the sweet fruit of teasing her about Anomen compounded the worry Sai felt for her. Unsure of how to answer her at first, she began slowly. "It's... okay. I think. There are times when I feel its influence, but I am largely able to keep it under control, as long as I concentrate. I have prayed nightly to Tyr to lend me the strength to cope with this; the fact that I seem to be able to cope gives me confidence the He has not abandoned me." She offered Imoen a brittle smile. "I was worried for a while – a paladin harbouring such an evil force? That can't be good..."

At this admission, Imoen snorted, covering her misgivings with a smile and biting back a sceptical retort. She had never understood her friend's devotion to her God, nor her chosen path; to the rogue turned mage, it seemed a path where you gave a lot and received only a small fraction back. Nevertheless, Sai seemed happy with her lot on the whole, and that alone was enough for Imoen to bite her tongue and keep her opinions to herself.

"Come on," she replied eventually, leaving Sai's largely rhetorical question unanswered, "let's go sort them out."

Nodding wearily, the paladin said nothing, realising that Imoen could not answer her, and simply followed.

o0o

Much to Sai's relief, when she and Imoen joined the others around the fire, their good natured bickering stopped. Jaheira settled quickly into her role of the Mother (_if she's the Mother, who is the Maiden and who is the Crone out of Imoen and I? _Sai wondered to herself, amused) and dished out equal portions of the vegetable stew she had concocted. Despite the lack of meat, it still smelt (and tasted) wonderful to Sai, especially after the near terminal diet of dry rations and mushroom soup they had subsisted upon during their time in the Underdark, and so she ate heartily and gratefully, scraping the bottom of her chipped clay pot with a hard travel biscuit to get the last morsel out. They then settled for a brief while, delighting in idle chat and friendly banter, during which Anomen sat beside her and regaled her with tales of his exploits; she had heard some of them before and doubted the authenticity of others, but at that time didn't have the heart to tell him so.

Eventually, their chatter died down and was replaced by stifled (and not so stifled, in Minsc's case) yawns as they all gave in to a bone-deep fatigue. A sleeping rota was quickly decided: Imoen would watch first, then Sai, followed by Minsc, Anomen and lastly, Jaheira. One by one they all unrolled travel-stained bedrolls underneath the sheets of much-mended canvas and, after shrugging off various items of armour, they settled for the night, Imoen the only one awake, wrapped in a warm woollen cloak, a mug of steaming tea clasped in her delicate, expressive hands.

For a long while, Imoen simply sat, sipping her tea, watching the moon rise and the sky change from a glorious shade of crimson as the sun set to a deep, dark purple as the night proper commenced. One by one, the stars revealed themselves, peeping from the heavens above, making twinkling patterns in the sky. Now that the sun had set completely, the slight breeze that had once been so pleasant now grew chill – not as chill as the winds of the North that sometimes visited her childhood home of Candlekeep, but cool enough to cause her to snuggle down and pull her cloak tighter around herself to keep its searching fingers away from her warm skin.

Reaching forward, she grabbed a piece of firewood and placed it carefully upon the fire so that it did not crackle too loudly and wake the others. Gazing into the burning embers, she was mesmerised for a long moment by its dancing depths, watching as the flame consumed the wood hungrily, edging each small log with a white-hot filigree of ash before it finally it was finally consumed, leaving it to crumble and disintegrate to dust. She felt a sudden, strange affinity with the burning wood; it was once alive, a piece of something greater than itself alone, standing tall and strong, only to be cut down, its very life force used to power something not quite alive and yet also not quite dead, leaving only an empty husk of ash and dust behind in its wake which would crumble to nothing over time. Shuddering slightly, Imoen tried to shake off the feeling of blank inevitability - that crushing, emotionless weight that had settled upon her like a covering of numbing snow since her time in Spellhold - and tried to think positively. Glancing over at the slumbering forms, she intended to seek out Sai – the one person who understood her predicament – but instead her attention was drawn by an almost imperceptible movement in a small group of bushes that had nothing to do with the slight breeze to the left of their camp.

Frowning, she peered into the shadows, looking for more movement – maybe it was only one of the local animals rummaging around, seeking out a supper of its own – but instead felt the hairs upon the back of her neck and along her arms prickle as she got the odd feeling that she was being watched. For a moment she thought about waking one of the others and investigating, but instead she just sat and studied the bushes; truth was, there was a seed of doubt as to whether her mind was yet again playing tricks upon her, as she was well aware that her incarceration at Spellhold had made her sensitive to paranoid fantasies where she was under constant surveillance (although, she mused to herself, she did have a good reason, considering she had indeed been under constant surveillance during her time at the asylum, due to what initially seemed like Irenicus' odd near obsession with her). Due to this, she was rather unwilling to give into these feelings, especially considering that whatever she had seen had clearly been either an animal or a figment of her imagination, since nothing was moving now.

Shivering slightly, she tried to shake off the feeling she was being observed, and settled down once again for the rest of her watch.

o0o

_Did she see me?_

Sitting stock still, his eyes momentarily widened as he held his breath, trying to minimise all external movement. The fact they she had noticed his shift in weight – simply where he had tried to alleviate a chronic case of pins and needles in his left foot caused by sitting in one position for too long – spoke volumes of her sharp eyes. He just had to hope that her hearing wasn't as keen; there was a tickle building up in his nose due to the accursed dust that seemed to proliferate upon the surface, and at some point or another, he was going to have to give into the sneeze that had been threatening to explode out of him for some time.

He had watched with an indefinable sense of trepidation when the two women – one short, pretty and vibrant; the other, taller, calm and angular – had joined their three already seated comrades. For a moment, he had felt a pang of confusion as to why there were only five of them when there had once been six, which was quickly followed by a stab of horrific realisation; something had happened to one of them upon exiting the Underdark. In a way, he supposed it was inevitable... the fighting in the tunnels that led to the surface had been furious, but whether it had been the drow or the surface elves that had diminished their numbers by one, he couldn't say.

It certainly explained the almost palpable sense of melancholy that settled over the small group.

His stomach had complained at the sight of them eating, but he ignored it easily, hunger more severe than this being something he had dealt with before. Instead, he spent his time studying their faces... faces he had only truly seen in drow form. He quickly surmised which one was Sai out of the two newcomers to the camp, and found himself forcing down a swell of disappointment when he realised that the beauty of her drow form and the glimpse of the woman underneath the disguise that Eilistraee had afforded him was not representative of her true, human form; if anything, her aspect was austere and seemed to be made entirely of angles, the only hint feminine softness being the small swell of her breast and the lightness of her voice. The rest, he found, was roughened by circumstance and scarred by battles uncounted. all wrapped up in ugly chainmail. Her flaxen hair, a colour which held promise had it been properly styled, was short and unkempt, drawn back from her high brow by an ill-chosen leather band, its cut and texture the complete antithesis of the luxuriously silken locks she had owned under her drow guise. In contrast to the pretty girl she had walked so easily with and the striking half elf that already sat at the camp fire, she was plain and uncomely... and yet when she smiled there was something; an inner light that spoke of a gentleness he had never seen in anyone - let alone a female - before, and this intrigued him.

o0o

When Imoen was a young girl, she had always wondered how adults managed to so successfully judge the passage of time. To her young mind, the world had been full off too many wonders and adventures, each one demanding her attention and time, to the point where she was always getting into trouble for not doing her chores. She had often marvelled at how the morning would seem to sail by whilst she hunted imaginary ogres with her homemade bow in the woodland near Candlekeep, or when she would try to swipe a couple of the small seed-cakes that Winthrop's cook would bake from the kitchens, all the while pretending that she was a daring thief from a distant land, stealing back the ill-gotten gains from a blood-thirsty warlord, whereas time would crawl by at a snail's pace when it was her turn to make the beds or mop the floors.

Well, now it was different. Although still somewhat outwardly childish in her demeanour, Imoen had grown up, and quickly. She had never told Sai, but the night after Gorion's death, when she had joined her bewildered, frightened friend upon the road to the Friendly Arm Inn, Imoen had changed. Seeing Gorion's broken body and Sai's tear-streaked yet resolute face, the young rogue had realised that the time for games was over; the fantasy had come to an end. So she had learned. Where she had once used her intellect for her own gain, she now applied it to the study of magic. She had done so quietly – she would never forget the look on her friend's face the first time she had let off a volley of magic missiles in battle – and whilst she still joked and smiled, she applied herself wholeheartedly to her new cause, all in support of her dearest, closest friend.

Sometimes, in the secret parts of her mind that she would never dare share with anyone else, Imoen felt that this devotion wasn't necessarily wholeheartedly reciprocated; that Tyr, Sai's God, took a part of heart that would never be shared with the young mage. At first, this had hurt, but slowly, Imoen had come to realise that Sai's path was different to her own... although they were bound tightly together (even then, she had realised there was a connection between them that transcended mere friendship), there was an aura to her friend that she simply could not fathom. In those early, heady days of adventure, Imoen thought that maybe it was down to Sai's chosen path of Paladinhood – a vocation she had little understanding or interest in herself, but admired her friend's devotion nonetheless – but it quickly became apparent as time went on that there was something else to her... something else was definitely at play. Sarevok's subsequent revelation that she was actually a Child of Bhaal therefore did not come as much of a surprise as it could

_(should?)_

have done – in fact, it explained a lot, and not just the sheer amount of people who seemed Hells bent on killing them.

What had come as a surprise was Irenicus' revelation that she had her own fair share of Bhaal's blood.

At this thought, Imoen shivered, and not from the chill air that was now settling around them and stared resolutely at the moon, unwilling to continue that particular train of thought. Once day, she would deal with it... but now, it was too soon. In a vain attempt to drive Irenicus from her mind, she then turned her attention once more to the bush at the edge of their camp site. She had long since given up observing it closely, but she still could not shake off the feeling that she was being watched... she had already decided that when it was her time to wake up Sai, she would inform her of her suspicions and then investigate, but for the time being, whoever was in there (if indeed it was anyone) obviously meant them no direct harm, and so, for the moment, they could wait – Sai needed her sleep.

Leaning forward, she groped in the small leather knapsack that she carried her meagre possessions in and found the spine of her ragged spellbook. Drawing it forth, she opened it at began sifting through the spells she had scribed in there, trying to decide which ones would be the most fortuitous to memorise. To anyone who was not an wizard, this ritual had mystical, mysterious overtones that they could not hope to grasp; for Imoen, however, it was as simple breathing, the arcane runes flaring briefly as she muttered them under her breath, committing each one indelibly to her memory. Sometimes, she did wonder if a mage's relationship was entirely healthy; there was always a weird, slightly burning sensation – completely harmless and painless, but there all the same – when the spells took lodgings in her mind, like arcane parasites, sitting in her brain, given life by her thoughts and words alone, and it was this that made her pause and think. Maybe, when

_(if)_

all of this came to an end, it might be a study she could pursue...

Glancing up at the moon, the young mage marked how far it had risen and realised, not without some sense of relief, that her watch was nearly up. Stretching, she hissed a little as her cloak uncovered her legs to the elements once more: _For all the things you could complain about the Underdark, _she mused, _one thing you couldn't complain about was the temperature... _Then, standing up, she made her way carefully towards Sai to ensure she did not wake the others and shook her gently by her shoulder.

"Hey... hey, you, wake up. Time for your watch, I'm afraid."

She went to shake her friend again, but as per usual, it was unnecessary; turning on her back, Sai offered Imoen a weary smile and sat up, running her long fingers through her short, unkempt hair.

"That time already, huh?" she quipped whilst she pulled on her boots. Imoen simply nodded in reply, all the while wondering if Sai had actually slept at all; if anything, the dark circles that seemed to have taken up permanent residence around her eyes had deepened, and the fine network of lines that now graced her forehead seemed somehow more prominent.

Standing up, Sai shivered for a moment. Taking up a piece of the firewood they had collected earlier, she re-banked the fire and, rubbing her hands together, she went to take up Imoen's now abandoned post.

Before the paladin had time to sit down, Imoen caught her gently by the elbow and leaned in closely to her. "I know you'll think I'm nuts, but this is just a heads up," she whispered, glancing over at the bush again. "But I think there's someone watching us..."

Following her glance, Sai's grey eyes narrowed. "Any tangible evidence?"

"Nope," the young mage replied, "but I saw movement that had nothing to do with the wind. I haven't seen anything since, but the feeling never went away."

Trusting Imoen's sixth sense, Sai nodded grimly. "You haven't been to investigate?"

Again, Imoen shook her head. "No... I thought about it, but I didn't." She then offered the paladin a slightly sheepish look. "Sorry."

Knowing that once upon a time, the young, carefree girl Sai had once known would have investigated any suspected disturbance in a flash, she felt a stab of remorse; even though outwardly Imoen maintained her youthful exuberance of before, there was now a hesitancy and a darkness to her, a lack of confidence where once there had only been spirited audacity.

"Don't apologise," Sai replied. "I'll check into it – don't worry. You just rest now."

At this, Imoen smiled gratefully, settled onto Sai's abandoned bedroll and, savouring the warmth that the paladin's body had created, watched her friend as she hefted her greatsword, offered the bush a calculating look and then stepped towards it.

"I know there's someone there," she began, her voice quiet and her tone even. "My friend says she saw something, and she's rarely wrong." She paused for a moment, waiting for a reply. When none was forthcoming, she continued. "I am guessing you don't mean us any ill will – if you did, I would have expected you to attack before now, and since I can't sense any evil intent around..." she allowed her statement to trail off. Nothing could be heard except the whirring of crickets and Minsc's gentle snoring.

Shrugging her shoulders again, Sai glanced at Imoen, her quick look saying much: _Maybe there isn't anyone there? Maybe all of this has been a bit much and now you're seeing enemies where there aren't any? Maybe... maybe it was all just part of your imagination?_

Suddenly, as if to refute her wordless questions, a silent shadow unfurled from the heart of the bush. At first, its shape seemed indistinct; feeling her heart lurch, Sai gripped the hilt of her greatsword tightly, bringing the weapon to bear, preparing for a fight as the shadow coalesced into a slender humanoid form. The form, however, did not answer her threat; rather than draw any weapons, it stepped clear from the bush and with one, fluid movement, pushed the deep cowl from what Sai now saw was a cloak from its face.

Immediately, a flicker of familiarity flitted through her as her grey eyes met crimson ones.

"Greetings, Sai Kulsted... we meet again, at last."


End file.
